Spanish Tango
by BitShifter
Summary: Steed is unmasked. Rita meets a suave thief. (Fourth in the series).
1. Chapter 1

P

 **"Spanish Tango"**

An Avengers Fanfiction

 _The fourth in a series of adventures designed to bridge the year and a half between broadcast episode 3.26, "Lobster Quadrille" (Cathy Gale, March 1964), and episode 4.01, "The Town Of No Return" (Emma Peel, September 1965)_

 **Disclaimer:** Some copyrighted characters have been borrowed

 **July 1964**

 _Steed is unmasked. Rita meets a suave thief._

Rita Fox strolled briskly past the statue of Diego Velazquez towards the main promenade entrance of the Museo Del Prado in Madrid. It was early evening, and the fading sun painted the stone facades with a purplish hue. Streetlamps were starting to cast pools of light on the pavement. Most areas of the museum had already closed, but this didn't deter her; she had a private showing arranged with one of the assistant curators. Her goal this evening was to examine a nineteenth-century manuscript.

She had originally planned to have a getaway with Steed this weekend to visit one of his friend's estates in Essex, where he had promised to take her horseback riding. But when the chance came up to have a private after-hours showing of the document here in Madrid, she had begged off. Steed would still be around when she got back to London; this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Rita entered the museum and followed the signs to the curator's department. Most of the staff had already left for the day, but a middle-aged balding man in a rumpled suit sat at one of the desks. She approached him and cleared her throat to gain his attention.

The assistant curator looked up at the woman who stood there. She wore black high heels, a knee-length gray wool skirt, and a shiny white satin blouse. The relative plainness of the outfit was contrasted by the woman's hair: a beautiful swirl of red held in place by two metal-and-enamel hair clips. He rose from his desk and extended a hand in greeting. Rita spoke first.

"I'm here to see the Zorrilla manuscript," she began. She shook the hand he had offered.

"You must be Senorita Fox," he said. "My name is Senor Monado."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Monado."

"Did you know that 'Zorrilla' is Spanish for 'little fox'?" he said wryly.

" _Yo hablo espanol,_ " Rita said with a perfect Castilian accent. "Actually, I thought it was Spanish for 'skunk'."

The casting of one of Spain's greatest dramatists as a smelly rodent did not appeal to the assistant curator. He frowned slightly. "A skunk is a 'zorilla', not a 'zorrilla'. The difference is in the way one rolls the 'r'."

"Of course," Rita gave in curtly. She had been wrong, but she never liked being told so.

Monado led her to an unoccupied wing of the museum near the back. It was unnerving to walk through The Prado, normally bustling with visitors, and hear no noise. They arrived at an exhibit hall that was filled with documents in glass cases.

The assistant curator gestured grandly at a case in the center of the room. "There it is," he said. "The original manuscript of one of the most beloved plays in Spanish history: Jose Zorrilla y Moral's _Don Juan Tenorio_."

"Written in 1844," Rita said in a hushed, reverent voice. Even Senor Monado had to admire the passion with which she seemed to regard the document.

"It is a tradition that the play is performed every year in Spain," he added.

"On All Saint's Day, yes," Rita said absently. "Could I be permitted to handle the document?"

"Yes. I have a study area set up where you may examine the manuscript, using gloves, of course," Monado said. "I'll just contact security to deactivate the alarms—"

Senor Monado sensed that something was wrong. Rita followed his gaze to see two guards lying on the floor in the far corner of the room. Monado's eyes went wide with fear as he stared at the area behind the display case.

A masked figure in black descended from overhead on a single strand of cord, like a spider. He turned and pointed something at Monado, and there was a loud hiss. The assistant curator collapsed as Rita looked on helplessly. The thief reached the floor and disconnected his harness.

Rita bent over the prone form of Senor Monado. A small feathered dart protruded from his neck. This meant the thief wasn't using bullets; she still had a chance to escape. She immediately jumped to her feet and ran for the door. The masked man made it there first and grabbed her.

He was tall and strong, but Rita had some experience with hand-to-hand fighting. After a second of grappling, Rita managed to maneuver her knee between his legs. She thrust upward with all her might, but the thief squeezed his thighs together in time to block the attack. Then he grabbed her wrist, twisted her arm behind her back, and put his mouth close to her ear.

"Now, that's no way for a young lady to act," he said in a charming British accent.

Rita struggled against his hold. She felt the cold steel of a gun barrel press against the warm flesh behind her right ear.

"I regret that I'm all out of tranquilizer darts," the smooth voice continued. "The only thing left are real bullets. I would hate to use one on such a beautiful little red fox."

Rita stopped struggling. She panted heavily with exertion.

"You're going to be a good girl now?" he asked gently.

Rita nodded her head and submitted. She would wait for another opportunity to escape.

The thief marched Rita over to the case containing the Zorrilla manuscript and opened it, keeping the gun on her the whole time. He used a gloved hand to carefully remove the delicate pages, storing them in a rigid foam-lined satchel that hung from a strap slung across his shoulder. He then turned and placed a small business card in the empty glass case. It contained no writing, only a simply drawn stick figure. To her surprise, he removed his mask and smiled at her, but didn't lower the gun.

The face was not the face of a thug at all; it was a model of perfection. The intelligent eyes seemed warm and inviting, and his dimpled smile seemed incapable of malice or violence. Rita found she was staring at him with admiration in spite of herself. He looked at her and patted the satchel.

"You're an expert on this manuscript," he began. It was a statement, not a question.

Rita shrugged innocently. "Me?" she lied nervously. "I'm just the curator's girlfriend."

The thief inclined his head towards Monado on the floor. "You came all the way from London to date _him?_ Haven't you heard long-distance relationships never work, Dr. Fox?"

She flinched involuntarily at hearing her name. "So you know who I am."

"Yes. I'm afraid I arranged this private showing for you," he explained. "I wanted to create an opportunity for the Zorrilla to be removed from its case, legitimately. I sent a letter to the curator from you, requesting a viewing, and a letter to you from him, granting you a viewing. It was all quite simple."

"If you knew I would be here, why didn't you have enough tranquilizer darts?" she asked.

The thief ignored her question. "Put your hands in front of you, palms together," he ordered.

Rita briefly considered resisting, but until she knew more about this man, she thought it best not to test his marksmanship. After seeing his face, she was more intrigued than frightened. She obediently extended her hands, all the while looking deeply into his eyes.

He took a small bit of cord from an outer pocket of the satchel and tied it around her wrists. "I have a car waiting outside," he said. "We'd best get away quickly before the tranquilizers wear off." He indicated a door in the far corner of the exhibit hall. The sign over it read: FIRE EXIT ONLY—ALARM WILL SOUND. Rita walked over to it and happily pushed the door open with her shoulder. Disappointment was visible on her face when nothing happened.

The thief grinned. "I disconnected all the alarms in this room, including the door. That's my car over there." He motioned to a white 1962 Volvo. As they approached the car, Rita turned to confront him.

"I've seen your face and your car, so I'll certainly be able to identify you," she said evenly. "You might as well tell me your name."

"As you wish." He opened the passenger side door for her, waiting until she was seated to grant her request. An angelic expression crossed his face as he looked at her with a broad smile.

"My name is Simon Templar." He briefly cast his eyes skyward to check the balconies for guards.

-oOo-

The next morning, Steed was leaning against a railing overlooking the Thames, one of his standard meeting places for Ministry contacts. He was reading a newspaper folded over to display the second page. The headline read:

 **Saint Steals Spanish Script**

An older man wearing a derby approached him. He looked over Steed's shoulder at the headline.

"Dreadful alliteration," One-Ten commented.

"Sensationalist story," Steed quipped.

"Actually, it's what I've come to talk to you about."

Steed arched an eyebrow. "You're saying that the Ministry is getting involved in this?"

"Templar is a British citizen," One-Ten answered. "It's only proper that we help the Spanish authorities recover the manuscript."

"Doesn't sound like there's much evidence that it was really him," Steed commented.

"There was his calling card, a stick figure with a halo, left at the scene," One-Ten reminded him.

"Easily forged by anyone," Steed said dismissively. "It doesn't sound like there's any proof that would hold up in a court of law."

"Ah, but you're only going by the account given in the article. There was one detail that we managed to keep out of the papers," One-Ten said. "An eyewitness at the scene should be able to positively identify Templar."

"Well, let the police apprehend Templar, and they can trot this eyewitness forward at the trial," Steed said reasonably. "Hardly sounds like the kind of thing the Ministry needs to look into."

"The witness was taken hostage at the scene."

"I wish the police luck in rescuing him."

One-Ten smiled knowingly. "You're going to Madrid," he announced.

"All the way to Spain?" Steed frowned. "I'm not really interested in investigating a foreign theft and kidnapping. And it's probably best if Templar and I never cross paths."

"Then perhaps you may be interested in this," One-Ten began casually. " _Don Juan Tenorio_ was written in 1844, and by coincidence, one of our historical researchers was there to study the manuscript—one who specializes in nineteenth century literature. The researcher disappeared at the time of the theft, and since then we've been unable to make contact. _She_ was the witness that was taken hostage."

" _She?_ "

"That's right, Steed. We must assume that Rita Fox is currently being held prisoner by Simon Templar."

-oOo-

The night before, Simon Templar's Volvo had pulled to a stop at a small villa several miles outside of Madrid. He turned to Rita and noticed that one of her cloisonne clips had come loose. A single red curl dipped below her eye. She held her breath as he reached over and tucked it back in, readjusting the clip. His touch was gentle and delicate.

"This way, Dr. Fox." He led her from the car up a stone walkway towards the main entrance. When Templar opened the front door for her, she caught her breath in awe at the main salon.

The room was built on a floor that was formed from a mostly-smooth single piece of polished granite, punctuated at intervals with hand-woven carpet. The ceiling was inset with wooden beams, and several skylights allowed the moon to reflect off the floor. Four rough-cut stone pillars divided the room into ninths. The outer walls were punctuated with alcoves of glass block, and in each alcove a stone pot sprouted brightly colored petals of exotic flowers. Rita was so impressed she hardly noticed when Templar untied her hands.

"You must steal a lot of stuff to afford a place like this," she commented.

Templar frowned. "This place was financed by money taken from the ungodly."

"You don't count yourself among that group?" she countered.

Templar didn't respond. He walked over to the far wall and pressed a button. The curtains were automatically swept aside to reveal a fifteen-foot high wall of floor-to-ceiling glass, providing a spectacular view overlooking a vegetated arroyo. It looked like a sheer drop of a hundred feet or more down to the modest stream that cut through it.

As she approached the glass wall to admire the view, Rita could smell the aroma of a savory stew filling the room. Templar gestured to the kitchen, where a pot was simmering on low heat on the stove.

"You must be hungry," he offered. "I know I am."

"Robbing museums will do that to you," she said testily.

Templar merely smiled and led her gently by the arm into the kitchen. He opened a bottle of chilled fruit sangria from the refrigerator. Rita watched with uncertainty, but she accepted the glass that he offered. Pulling some wooden bowls from one of the cabinets, Templar dished out some supper for Rita and himself. He had put his gun in a shoulder holster; Rita still didn't feel confident enough to test his draw and aim. And where could she run to, on foot, in the countryside miles outside of Madrid? If she were to escape, she would need to steal the car as well, and that meant overpowering Templar for the keys.

As they ate at a large oak table in the dining area, her gaze was drawn to his innocent blue eyes and a countenance that hardly seemed capable of anything evil. Why had he taken the manuscript? Why had he taken her?

"Do you like the stew?" he asked.

"It's good," Rita answered begrudgingly. Eventually, she had finished off the entire pot with Templar. She pitched in gathering up the dishes; helping with the simple domestic chores made her feel less like a prisoner and more like a guest.

"I have a place for you to stay the night," Templar said. "I hope it's to your liking. Follow me." He led her down a hallway to the far end of the villa.

"When are you going to let me go?" she asked quietly.

"Your bed is in here," Templar announced, dodging the question. Rita looked at the doorway that he indicated.

The outside of the door contained an elaborate lock suitable for shutting someone in. It was not something that would normally be in a house. Realization dawned on her.

"You intended to kidnap me all along," she announced. "That's why you didn't shoot me with a tranquilizer dart. You didn't want to have to carry me to the car."

Templar looked at her steadily. "I must ask that you remain my enforced guest for a few days."

"You mean until you have a chance to fence the manuscript," Rita countered.

"In a manner of speaking," Templar said cryptically.

"I came to Madrid to examine the manuscript," Rita said boldly. "I'd appreciate getting a chance to see it before you deprive the world of a great literary treasure."

"Of course," Templar said agreeably. His expression became stern. "But not until tomorrow. Tonight, you sleep here without causing any trouble. The bathroom window overlooks a drop of a hundred feet or more, so don't get any ideas about escaping." He shut the door and locked it behind him.

Rita sighed as she looked around the exquisitely decorated bedroom and the generous bathroom off to one side. She didn't like being confined, but she certainly couldn't have asked for a more attractive jail. Or jailor.

-oOo-


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The lobby of the police headquarters in Madrid was dominated by a huge portrait of Generalissimo Francisco Franco. The room was bustling with activity. Only a few hours had passed since Steed learned of the theft, but everyone at the police station seemed to have been expecting him. Steed guessed that the Ministry must have set things up in the wee hours of the morning before contacting him, anticipating that he would take the two-hour flight to Madrid for the chance to rescue Miss Fox.

A young man in a military uniform briskly approached Steed and shook his hand. "Senor Steed? My name is Capitan Rodrigo."

"Steed, John Steed. Pleased to meet you, El Capitan."

"I am to be your liaison during this investigation," Rodrigo announced.

"Liaison?" Steed asked politely.

" _Si._ I will be coordinating the efforts between the Spanish, British, and French governments."

Steed looked puzzled. "The French are involved, as well?" he asked.

Rodrigo nodded his head vigorously, excited to tell Steed the news. "We are fortunate to have acquired an expert law enforcement agent from the French government to work in cooperation with you."

Steed became suddenly alarmed. "Law enforcement agent?"

Rodrigo opened the door to a small windowless room just off the main lobby and ushered Steed in.

"Yes, she was instrumental in recovering the Renoirs stolen by art thieves earlier this month. You've heard of 'Bulldog' Fiset?" He turned to speak to a short, immaculately-dressed woman on the far side of the room. "Special Inspector Fiset, this is Senor Steed, from the British government."

Steed glanced anxiously around the room. There were no French doors that could be used for a quick exit, no columns that could be toppled as an obstacle.

Simone's eyes focused on Steed and all color drained from her face. In a voice barely louder than a whisper, she spoke only two words.

"Monseiur Bowler!"

Like the calm passing before the storm, her face went from surprised to angry. She charged at him, all five-foot nothing and seven stone. Rodrigo gaped in shock as the Inspector attempted to tackle the newly-arrived gentleman.

Steed waited until the last second, then agilely stepped to one side. He grabbed her wrist in passing and spun it around behind her back in a hammerlock. With an iron grip, he fastened his other arm across her chest at the shoulder blades, just above her magnificent breasts and below her exquisite neck.

"What is the meaning of this!" cried Capitan Rodrigo.

"Lovers' quarrel," Steed answered smoothly. Simone struggled against his grip and attempted a backwards head butt with her golden blonde head. Steed dodged it just in time.

"Care for a little catch-as-catch-can, Inspector?" Steed teased delicately into her ear. "Best two of three falls."

"You are a liar and a fraud, M'sieu. You are a man without honor!" Her large bosom heaved as she panted from exertion.

"You must give me a chance to explain, Simone," Steed crooned soothingly. "When you mistook me for Inspector Teague, I thought it best to go along. I knew that I could be very helpful finding the Renoirs, but you wouldn't have believed me if I told you I worked for the government."

"And rightfully so, since you cannot be trusted," she fired back angrily. "Why did you not show me credentials?"

"I wasn't carrying any; I work undercover."

"I am no longer believing anything you say," Simone declared stubbornly. "Let me go."

Steed released her as Rodrigo looked on in amazement. Inspector Fiset straightened her clothes and shot a contemptuous glance at Steed. "And I will never be your lover, M'sieu."

-oOo-

The morning light slanting through the windows had awakened Rita. She stretched contentedly as she got out of bed. If she had ever had a better night's sleep, she couldn't remember it. In spite of being a prisoner, she had slept the untroubled and dreamless sleep of the safe and innocent. Looking down, she remembered that she had removed all her clothes before collapsing into bed. That didn't worry her, though; she trusted Templar not to spy.

Her dirty clothes from last night beckoned to her from a pile on the floor, but she ignored them. A closet with a sliding door was located on the far side of the bedroom. Rita pulled on her panties and walked over to it. Inside she found men's clothes; Templar was tall enough that any one of his shirts would cover her down to the knees. She put one on and rolled up the sleeves, checking herself in a mirror to make sure that the outfit wasn't too revealing. As a final touch, she used her cloisonne clips to put up her hair.

She tried the bedroom door and found it was unlocked. She padded down the hallway on her bare feet. When she entered the main salon, she saw Templar leaning over something on the dining room table. It was the Zorrilla manuscript.

He looked up as she entered. "Good morning," he said brightly. "I hope you slept well."

"Good morning, Mr. Templar."

"I promised you a chance to examine it," Templar said. "Here it is." He didn't seem surprised by her attire; he gently put his hand on her waist and guided her to the table.

Rita leaned in to inspect the first page. Then she sniffed at the air, put her nose down close to the manuscript, and a smirk of triumph appeared on her face.

"You've gotten what you deserve, Mr. Templar!" she said smugly.

"Call me Simon. What do you mean?"

"This manuscript is an obvious forgery!"

"What makes you say that?" he asked politely.

"This ink contains shellac. I can smell it. Zorrilla would have used iron-gall nut ink, a vegetable dye that was used until the early twentieth century. This ink has the same purplish-black hue of nineteenth century ink, but the binder is a modern shellac, like in india ink."

"Binder?"

"The liquid that holds the ink particles together in suspension."

Templar did not seem alarmed at Rita's revelation. "If the smell were gone, would you have thought the manuscript was real?"

Rita stared at him for a second and narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"You knew that this was fake," she said slowly, accusingly. "You commissioned this forgery."

"Well, I can't very well give away one of Spain's greatest literary treasures as ransom. I needed the original so that my friend could make a perfect copy overnight. But I had every intention of returning the Zorrilla once this affair was done."

Rita softened at this declaration. "Ransom?"

"The daughter of a Spanish diplomat has been kidnapped. Her father, Don Alvaro, is a friend of mine. As ransom, the kidnapper demanded the original copy of _Don Juan Tenorio_."

Rita looked deep into Templar's eyes. He didn't look away. She hesitated a moment in thought.

"So that's why you made no effort to disguise yourself at The Prado," she mused. "And why you left your calling card."

Templar nodded. "I had to let it be known that I had taken the real manuscript, so that the kidnapper would believe that I was handing him the original."

"And that's why you kidnapped me," she finished for him. "You needed to test your copy on an expert."

Templar gently stroked her arm. "I'm sorry I didn't confide in you. But I wanted an unbiased opinion, and I wanted it from someone who had every reason to believe that the manuscript was real."

Rita touched his hand, but made no attempt to remove it from her arm.

"You were saying something about the smell," Templar reminded her. "I have to deliver this document at eight o'clock tonight. In your expert opinion, what would be necessary to allow this copy to pass as the original?"

Rita thought for a second. His open, honest face inspired her to trust him.

"It was just created overnight? So the ink is still relatively fresh?" she asked.

"Yes. I was up all night with a friend of mine who specializes in this sort of thing."

"You must be tired." Rita said sympathetically. "If this manuscript spends the next eight hours covered with silica gel and baking soda, it may just dispel enough of the binder odor for it to withstand expert scrutiny," she said.

"Thank you, Rita."

Rita was startled at his use of her first name. She had become so used to being called "Miss Fox."

-oOo-

Inspector Fiset finished her careful examination of Steed's credentials and passed his leather billfold back to him. "I will have to trust these for now, until I hear word from my office in Paris. Now what is the British government's interest in this affair?"

"Templar is officially a citizen of England," Steed explained. "Also, he kidnapped an employee of the Ministry of Defence when he stole the manuscript."

"Ah, yes," Simone agreed. "The research librarian that was taken hostage..."

"Miss Fox," Steed supplied helpfully.

Simone paused and looked directly into Steed's eyes, squinting suspiciously. "Research librarian? Miss Fox?" she asked with her heavy French accent. "That was the name of your troublesome naked red-haired assistant at Brighton."

Steed nodded. "Yes, that's who Templar has taken prisoner."

"It does not surprise me," Simone shot back. "She is a woman that is always in the middle of everything that is going on."

Steed smiled. "For a librarian, she does get around."

"Anyway, we have located Templar and your assistant."

"How did you find them?" Steed asked.

"It was easy. He always drives the same car, a white Volvo with British license plate 'ST 1'. It is difficult to stay hidden when you drive such an unusual and easily identifiable car. What kind of car do you drive when you are undercover? I imagine it is very plain and easily forgotten."

Steed thought of the Bentley, and changed the subject. "How are we going to catch Templar and retrieve the manuscript?"

"I have tapped his phone. We will listen in to his plans."

"Don't you need a warrant to do that?"

"The Generalissimo does not mind," Simone said. "You must accompany me to the Palacio de Comunicaciones. There we can listen in."

Steed followed Simone outside, where she led him to her light blue Fiat Transformabile. She really did take that car with her wherever she went. He wondered how she had managed to get it across the Pyrenees so quickly. She probably had one of her lieutenants drive all night to bring it to her.

"And this time, when I drive," Simone remarked curtly, "I will not let you look up my skirt."

-oOo-

At six o'clock that afternoon, Simon Templar was carefully dusting off the pages of the phony _Don Juan Tenorio_ with a horsehair brush. Rita looked over his shoulder. Templar moved his head closer to hers in a gesture of intimacy. She didn't move away; instead, she looked down at the manuscript and spoke in a quiet voice.

"If you're lying to me, I have a friend who'll make it his personal mission to bring you to justice," she commented.

"A lover?" Templar asked casually.

"A government chap. Always gets his man."

"I'm glad it's not a lover." He turned his head so his nose nuzzled her ear.

"I didn't say he _wasn't_ a lover; I just said he worked for the government," Rita corrected.

Templar smiled. "Yes, of course, Rita darling."

"I'm not your darling," she objected half-heartedly.

"We'll see," Templar grinned. "We're going to a party at eight. That's where the exchange will be made."

"That's only two hours from now," Rita frowned. "When will you return the original?"

"Immediately afterwards. By the way, it's a costume party. I've left an outfit in your room. I believe it's your size, darling."

"Will you let me accompany you to The Prado when you return the original?" she asked. She still wasn't sure she trusted him not to stick the kidnappers with the phony and keep the original for himself. He was, after all, a thief.

"I don't see why not. Now, if you'll excuse me," he continued, "I need to make a phone call to Don Alvaro, to make sure the arrangements for the return of his daughter have been made." He bent in and delicately kissed her cheek. She felt a flutter of excitement in spite of herself.

Rita trotted down the hall and entered her room. Simon had felt no need to lock her in today; they seemed to have reached a tacit agreement about using the fake manuscript to rescue the diplomat's daughter. In addition, he had allowed her to spend several hours that afternoon examining the real manuscript. It had been a thrill to read the roguish work of Zorrilla written in his very own hand.

There were only two articles of clothing on the bed: a strapless sheath dress and a pair of panties, both in red satin. Rita picked up the dress and did a quick mental calculation of the length from upper to lower hem. It looked as if it would cover her breasts or her thighs, but probably not both. She sighed. First Steed, now Templar. Why did every man insist on dressing her in these scandalous outfits?

And, of course, there was the absence of a suitable bra. Just because she didn't have a massive chest like that French Inspector in Brighton didn't mean that she wouldn't appreciate a little coverage now and then.

She disrobed and donned the outfit. It had better not be a chilly night.

-oOo-


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

It was six in the afternoon when Steed and Simone arrived at the Plaza de Cibeles. A spectacular fountain in the center of the square featured a statue of the earth goddess Cybele in a chariot drawn by lions. On the far side of the plaza sat the Palacio de Comunicaciones, the city's center of postal, phone, and telegraph communication. The building was an elaborate construction of white stone with delicate tracery that made it look like it belonged on a wedding cake.

Simone strode confidently into the lobby of the building, her high heels clicking on the polished marble floor. The Bulldog's reputation must have preceded her; all the uniformed security guards snapped to attention when she walked by. She led Steed to a small interior office. Inside, her chief lieutenant was seated in front of a large switchboard with a headset pressed to one ear.

"Has Templar made any calls today?" she asked Galois. Aside to Steed, she explained, "We can listen to them on tape."

"No, Inspector," Galois answered formally. "Wait—he's dialing now!" He flipped a switch so that the ring tone from the phone filled the room. There was a click as the connection was picked up at the other end

"Don Alvaro?" Templar's voice could be heard asking.

" _Buenos tardes,_ Simon."

"I am ready to make the exchange. Tonight, at your hacienda, as we planned," Templar announced.

"I cannot wait," Don Alvaro said nervously. "You know that I value nothing higher in this world."

"Of course, _amigo_ ," Templar agreed. "No price is too high to pay."

"That filthy swine Templar!" Simone spat. "Disposing of a priceless document for mere money!"

Don Alvaro continued speaking. "As per your instructions, the costume party is set for eight tonight," he said. "I will have over a hundred guests attending, so we can make the trade unnoticed."

Simone frowned in dismay. "A costume party at eight? We will need outfits immediately. Galois! Find something for me and Monsieur Steed to wear."

She turned to address Steed.

"So, he intends to sell the manuscript to this Don Alvaro. We will catch him red-handed, and perhaps rescue that mischievous red-haired assistant of yours at the same time."

-oOo-

Simon Templar smiled as he hung up the phone. Everything was going according to plan. The police were undoubtedly tapping his phone, meaning they would be out in force at the party in two hours. If all went well, the police would follow the fake Zorrilla and wind up arresting the kidnappers of Don Alvaro's daughter as the criminals; meanwhile, he would be ten miles away, returning the original to the exhibit at The Prado.

Templar pulled out a violin case and removed the imitation Thompson submachine gun that it housed. In the false bottom, he put both the fake and original manuscripts. They were in color-coded envelopes; but thanks to Rita's tutelage, he could tell them apart side by side. The kidnappers would never get that opportunity; they would only get to see the fake one during the exchange, and Rita assured him they would accept it as genuine.

The last piece of the puzzle was to find someone to actually perform the exchange. He couldn't do it himself; the authorities would be watching him continuously. That left the plucky Miss Fox as prime candidate to make the trade with the kidnappers. During the past twenty-four hours, he had come to realize that she was not only a woman of great intelligence, but one who could be counted on when the going got tough.

There was another outside possibility—the government man from England she mentioned. If the man were indeed her lover, as she had hinted, he would undoubtedly be resourceful enough to make his way to Madrid to rescue her. If this man managed to show up at the party tonight, Templar could easily get him to do the exchange, in order to avoid exposing Rita to any danger.

Templar shut the latches on the violin case and headed back to his room to put on his costume, resolving to check up on Rita after he had finished changing. He had to admit that he looked forward to seeing her in the dress. When he had first chosen her on paper as the expert that he would abduct along with the Zorrilla, he had expected a plain, owlish woman who spent all of her time in libraries.

Then, after he had met her in person, grappled with her at the library, and verbally sparred with her last night, he realized that she was an amazing woman. But when he had seen her this morning, bending over the manuscript wearing little more than one of his shirts, absorbed in the document and completely oblivious to her own attractiveness, he had felt the first stirrings of desire.

He wondered if she might feel the same way towards him.

-oOo-

Thirty minutes later, Galois returned to the Palacio with two boxes in his arms. "These were all I could find, Inspector."

"I'm sure they will be fine. Follow me, Monsieur Steed."

"Just Steed."

She fired a glance at him, but said nothing. Off to one side of the communications room was a large windowless utility closet. Simone motioned Steed inside with an impatient wave of her hand. "We can change in here, M'sieu."

Steed retreated to face the opposite wall of the closet, and had removed his jacket, slacks and shirt before the Inspector had even closed the door. Opening the box that Galois had provided, he pulled out a pair of toreador pants that looked like they were a size too small. He had just managed to wriggle into them when Inspector Fiset cleared her throat shyly.

"Could you help me with this, _s'il vous plait?_ "

He turned to see Simone struggling with the clasp of her wool skirt. As he approached her, she seemed to regard his shirtless chest with approval. With a single deft motion, Steed freed the stuck fastener. She let the skirt drop to the floor, briefly revealing her sheer blue panties. Then she removed a frumpish linen skirt from her costume box and pulled it up over her hips.

Simone demurely turned away as she removed her blouse and bra. Steed arched his eyebrows and inclined his head in approval at the sight of her perfectly-shaped back. She donned a flimsy peasant top. The tight blonde chignon of her hair had become trapped inside the back collar of the top as she had pulled it over her head. Steed walked over and gently pulled her hair out from the back of the garment, smoothing out the fabric beneath.

"Thank you, M'sieu." Her voice was soft. As she turned to face him, Steed saw that the peasant top required a drawstring to lace it up. Simone had not tied it yet, and both her breasts were fully exposed. This did not appear unintentional.

"You are going as The Corregidor, Don Eugenio de Zuniga." Simone handed him the famous three-cornered hat. "And I will be Frasquita, the miller's wife."

"But wasn't Don Eugenio an evil, lecherous villain who tried to lure Frasquita to bed?" Steed tried not to stare at her exposed bosom.

" _Oui,_ M'sieu. It is a role that you were born to play." She tried to sound angry, but it was obvious that some of her old feelings for Steed had returned.

"Do you really think so little of me, Simone?" Steed asked.

Simone looked deep into his eyes. She moved close and pressed herself to him, bare chest to bare chest. Slipping her arms around his neck, she kissed him passionately in the way that the French do, flicking her tongue inside his mouth. Steed slipped his hands down to her petite waist.

"You are a bad, bad man, Steed," Simone whispered.

"I am a good, good man," he smiled back.

"Why is it that I cannot resist you, M'sieu?" she said huskily.

"Perhaps it's my natural charm."

"I hope you can forgive me for being short with you earlier."

Steed looked down at the five-foot tall woman, thought of making a joke, then thought better of it. "There's no hard feelings," he said.

"I might be able to change that," Simone smiled. She looked down at the tight toreador pants, and her hand glided down to make contact. Steed jumped in surprise, unable to come up with a response.

"I feel that you are aptly named, Steed," she said. "I think I have changed my mind. I will allow you to be my lover."

"That might not be a good idea," he said cautiously.

"You are saying you would never consider taking me as a lover?" As Simone raised her voice, she slightly increased the pressure of her grip.

"Simone, I'm afraid it would never work," Steed answered coolly. "I'm an undercover operative for the British government. If I'm seen spending too much time around France's greatest Detective, it will become impossible for me to move about in England's criminal underworld."

She looked into his eyes again, as if trying to evaluate the truth of his answer. The Inspector seemed to accept his excuse for the time being. She released her grip on him.

"I am not used to being rebuffed, M'sieu." Fire blazed in her eyes as she tossed her golden blonde head. "Perhaps you will change your mind after you think about it." She laced up her peasant blouse and turned away towards the door.

"Perhaps," Steed agreed cryptically. He finished dressing with items from the box, including a ruffled shirt and a brocade vest.

"I would say that you don't know what you are missing," Simone smirked. "But I have already shown it to you. The decision is now yours to make, M'sieu."

"Galois!" Inspector Fiset cried through the closed door. "Have my car brought around. We are leaving for the Hacienda de Don Alvaro."

-oOo-

Simon Templar came through the bedroom door. Rita instinctively covered her breasts with her hands, even though she was wearing the dress.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you to knock?"

"But you're dressed," Simon pointed out politely. "Why are you covering yourself?"

"This dress is too... thin," she objected weakly. She stared at Simon. He sported a perfectly groomed moustache and was immaculately dressed in a three-piece pinstripe suit, complete with spats and a gold watch fob.

He gently spun her around to face the mirror. "What's wrong with the dress?" he asked smoothly. Rita started to answer when she was interrupted by the warm press of Simon's lips upon her exposed neck. Her heart started to race. In her reflection in the mirror, she noticed that her nipples had suddenly become very visible through the thin fabric.

"There's almost nothing holding it up," she said breathlessly.

She felt Simon tug on the back of the dress, and in a split second it had fallen away, baring her to the waist. Rita gasped in shock as she saw herself exposed in the mirror.

"Well, I wouldn't say 'nothing'," he corrected, reaching around and cupping one of her pert breasts. He continued kissing her shoulders and moved downward. Rita's breathing became heavy and she felt dizzy. It was as if Simon was a drug pouring into her system. Her hands went down to her waist to retrieve the upper hem of the dress. She had intended to pull it back up over her bosom and deny Simon's advances, but she couldn't seem to summon the will to do so.

"You take a lot of liberties, Mr. Templar," Rita protested huskily. She closed her eyes as she felt herself being swept away by his contact with her skin, the caresses of his strong hands.

"Call me Simon," he said suavely. He spun her back around to face him. With a delicate touch, he removed the cloisonne clips and let her red hair cascade down over her shoulders. Rita slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him hard on the mouth. She could feel the tickle of his moustache on her nose.

Her head was reeling, and as she looked past him, she saw the clock on the wall. Seven o'clock. They had to leave for the party. "We have to deliver the manuscript," she said.

"What's that, dear?" His lips and hands seemed to be everywhere on her, appearing delightfully in places where she least expected them.

"The manuscript," she reminded him, panting, "to save Don Alvaro's daughter." In another ten seconds, she was sure she would be incapable of saying anything coherent. She could feel the blood pounding in her ears, and some parts of her body were starting to get very warm indeed.

"Yes. The manuscript." Templar said reluctantly. He pulled away from her and gently used both hands to tug the dress back up over her breasts. He let his hands linger there a moment longer in disappointment.

"You're right, Rita darling, of course," he continued. "We'll have to finish this later. You do want to finish, don't you?"

Rita's eyes were as large as saucers. She seemed to have lost the power of speech. She nodded imperceptibly.

He kissed her a final time and then presented her a red mask to cover her eyes. "Don't forget to wear this. It's best for both of us to remain incognito at the party." He turned to leave.

Rita could feel every nerve in her body tingling as he left the room. She wondered if Steed would ever make her feel this way.

-oOo-


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The hacienda of Don Alvaro featured an open courtyard that was fifty feet wide on each side. Nearly a hundred guests were milling about, and more were arriving every second. A seven-piece combo played lively dance music. A small decorative fountain stood in the center, and towards the north end there was a great stone arch with statues of Catholic saints nestled in recesses on each of the four corners. Gaily-colored party lanterns were strung from one rooftop to the other so that they hung down into the yard. Serving tables along the inside walls held a tempting buffet of appetizers and drinks.

Simon Templar had put on a black mask that effectively covered most of his facial features. After a brief detour to Don Alvaro's study, he escorted Rita into the courtyard. As they entered, the other guests turned to look at them in admiration. Here was a man over six feet in height, dressed impeccably in a three-piece pinstripe suit, glossy dress shoes with spats, a snazzy fedora, and a fake Thompson submachine gun tucked under one arm. A toothpick dangled casually from the corner of his mouth. On his arm was a shorter, slender woman, wearing a stunningly short strapless red dress in a shiny, clingy fabric. Above the petite red mask that covered her eyes was a breathtaking furl of red hair, held in place by two colorfully decorated cloisonne clips.

Rita scanned the other party guests as she entered with Simon. There were pirates and hunters, gypsies and princesses—and a woman wearing a loosely-laced peasant blouse sporting a huge exposure of cleavage. Rita had seen that bosom before. Then she saw the man standing nearby, a lean man wearing embarrassingly tight toreador pants, a colorful brocade vest, and a three-cornered hat on his head. A flash of recognition came to her. It was Steed! And next to him, the woman in the peasant top was that big-chested French Inspector from Brighton, Fiset. Rita turned towards Simon in alarm.

"Trouble, Simon. That government chap I told you about is here—"

"The one who may or may not be your lover?" Simon teased.

"—and with him is Special Inspector 'Bulldog' Fiset of the Surete."

"Trouble comes in twos," Simon smiled debonairly. "We'd best greet them and see what they're up to."

"Are you crazy? If they recognize you, they'll arrest you on the spot!"

"I don't have the Zorrilla manuscript on my person any more. I know these types. Even if they do recognize me, they'll want to wait until I make the exchange, to catch me red-handed. This, of course, will allow me to outwit them."

"I don't think Steed can be outwitted," she replied.

"Then I guess we had better try to enlist him on our side," Simon suggested. This was exactly as he had planned.

Even if Rita had been able to talk Simon out of approaching Steed and Fiset, it was too late now; for the well-endowed Frenchwoman had grabbed Steed by the arm and was virtually dragging him over to meet them. Templar approached his adversaries with a polite smile.

"Ah, _El Sombrero de Tres Picos_ ," Templar remarked, looking at Steed's hat. "You must be Don Eugenio." He turned to eye the generous cleavage presented by Simone. "And you must be Frasquita." Templar gallantly took Simone's hand and kissed it. She blushed.

"And who are you, M'sieu?" she asked.

"John Dillinger, American gangster."

"Public Enemy Number One," Steed added with a wry smile.

"And this is my _femme fatale_ , The Lady In Red," Templar continued.

Rita briefly inclined her head in greeting. Her eyes were locked on Steed. She longed to talk to him about the stolen manuscript—and other matters.

Simone looked at Templar and smiled teasingly. "I have heard that Mr. Dillinger had a very large, ah... gun," she commented.

Templar held up the fake weapon and looked deeply into Inspector Fiset's eyes. "Guilty as charged," he said mischievously.

Simone turned to Rita. "And you, _Mademoiselle Roux_. You seem to have trouble finding sufficient clothes whenever we meet."

Rita extended her right leg and pointed her toe, making no effort to adjust the hem that rode up her thigh. "If you're complimenting me on my legs, thank you," she answered cattily.

"I'm going to get some punch," Templar announced. "Would you two like anything?" Steed and Fiset declined the offer. Templar turned to Rita. "Join me, Red Lady?"

"Of course," Rita smiled.

The instant that Templar was out of earshot, Simone turned to Steed accusingly. "You can no longer defend your red-haired assistant, M'sieu. She was no prisoner. She is clearly in league with Monsieur Templar."

"Not necessarily," Steed disagreed. "She might have been under duress. Miss Fox is very cool under fire. It's possible Templar had some sort of hold on her. Maybe he poisoned her and is withholding the antidote."

Simone wrinkled her mouth into a frown, but she couldn't refute Steed's logic.

"I have specially asked Monsieur Teague from Scotland Yard to join us here, as a personal favor to me. You remember him, Monsieur Steed? The man you pretended to be?"

"I already explained that, Simone," Steed said patiently.

"Perhaps you can explain it to him, when he arrives. Ah, there he is now."

Steed followed Simone's gaze to the second floor balcony. The man that Steed had briefly glimpsed in Brighton stood there, unimaginatively dressed in brown suit and derby, his working clothes. Still, they were distinctive enough to pass as a costume among the brightly colored outfits of all the other guests.

Simone left Steed to head upstairs to meet Teague. Steed knew he had to take this opportunity to contact Miss Fox, to find out what was going on before the red-haired librarian found herself in a cell in a Spanish jail. He wandered over to the punch bowl where Rita and Templar were stationed, and made contact with her by a discreet nod of his head. Rita saw it, and she separated herself from Templar and approached him.

The band in the corner of the courtyard struck up a lively tango.

"May I have this dance, Lady In Red?" Steed gallantly doffed his three-cornered hat.

Rita smiled back. " _Si, Senor Corregidor._ "

"Do you know how to tango?"

"I'm familiar with both the Argentine and ballroom tango," Rita smirked.

"Ballroom, then."

"You're interested, perhaps, in the close contact it offers?"

"Of course" Steed grinned.

"Cheek-to-cheek," she announced.

"Don't sprain your neck on the head snaps." Steed winked. "I'll de-thorn a rose." He grabbed a flower from a nearby centerpiece and pinched off the burrs.

"Remember how it goes, Steed. Slow-slow-quick-quick-slow," coached Rita.

"Not to worry. I'll let you lead if I get lost," he answered. Rita opened her mouth so that Steed could place the rose between her teeth. They joined hands and he pulled her body close to his with a dramatic swoop. Their movements were skilled and precise as they started to dance.

Steed began talking in a low voice so that no one else could overhear. "The Bulldog is saying that you look less and less like a hostage and more and more like an accomplice. Are you really in league with Templar?" The music reached the end of the bar, and he took the rose from her mouth with his teeth so that she could answer.

"You don't understand," she countered. "Don Alvaro's daughter has been abducted. The kidnappers have demanded the Zorrilla manuscript as ransom." Rita accepted the rose back from him, the corner of their lips briefly touching.

"So Templar's just going to turn it over?" Steed asked. "A priceless piece of Spanish literature?" He waited until the end of the bar, and then took the rose back again.

"Not exactly. He's crafted up a perfect replica. I kind of helped him in that area," Rita confessed. Her lips lingered a bit longer than usual on Steed's as she took possession of the rose.

"He'll never be able to make the exchange now," Steed cautioned. "Special Inspector Fiset has brought a man in from Scotland Yard. They'll be watching Templar every second that he's at this party. Even if he can elude one of them, he can't elude them both."

Rita passed the rose back to him. She appeared lost in thought for a second. Then she briefly rubbed her nose against his, like a friendly pony. "We must help him make the exchange, Steed. You can trade the manuscript in place of Simon. Inspector Fiset won't suspect you." She eagerly grabbed the rose stem with her teeth and pulled it away from Steed, awaiting his answer.

"I wouldn't be too sure," he said reluctantly. "I'm not very high on the Bulldog's 'trust list' right now. You seem awfully cozy with Templar. Are you in his thrall?"

Rita couldn't answer, as she still had the rose and it was not yet the end of the bar. Steed showed no signs of accepting it back early. He stared deep into her brown eyes. Rita opened her mouth and let the rose drop to the ground so that she could speak.

"Simon Templar tried to seduce me," Rita announced in a low voice.

The music reached the end of the bar, and they snapped their heads in unison. Rita didn't get to see the expression on Steed's face.

"Did he succeed?" Steed asked, his cheek pressed to hers.

"No, but it was close. Should I have let him?"

"It's up to you."

They reversed direction with another head snap.

"Why don't _you_ ever try to seduce me?" Rita asked coyly.

"Would you like me to?" Steed teased.

She seemed to consider this for a second. "You could stand to be more like Simon."

Steed arched his eyebrows. "A man like Templar is used to taking whatever he wants."

"And you?"

He smiled. "I always ask first."

They bent forward and backward in a synchronized dip. To her dismay, Rita noticed that this caused the hem of her dress to ride up over her backside. Templar had miscalculated the length, just as she had anticipated. Steed noticed it too, and he slid his hand from her waist to grab the hem of the dress, politely tugging it back down over her bottom. His warm hand lingered there a moment, steady on her hip; not unsure, like Freddie's had been.

The staccato music reached the end of the bar again, and Steed surprised her with a _gancho_ , hooking his leg around behind hers. It was a move from the Argentine tango, not the ballroom variety. Their abdomens were pressed tightly together as he leaned in.

Rita friskily pressed her lower body into his, swaying her hips from side to side in time with the music. She could have sworn she felt him becoming aroused through his toreador pants.

"We're dancing a bit close tonight, Miss Fox," Steed commented playfully. He was trying to keep his voice steady, but Rita could tell that her contact was definitely stimulating him. She had better stop before she put him in an embarrassing position. Those pants really _were_ tight.

"I'll tell Simon that you'll do the exchange," she announced. "Meet him over at the punch bowl. After that, Simon and I will try to keep Fiset and her friend occupied so they don't suspect you." Rita briefly nuzzled his ear.

"Very well," Steed agreed. "Watch out for The Bulldog. She has a bit of a bite today."

Rita looked at his facial expression and hesitated.

"Did she try to seduce you?" she asked. They snapped their heads in unison again as they reversed direction.

Steed smiled. "Like Templar, The Bulldog is used to taking whatever she wants."

"I'll take that as a 'yes'. Did she succeed?"

Steed didn't answer. Rita turned her head and looked deep into his eyes.

"Ah, I see that she didn't," she mused.

"You know me so well, do you?"

Rita gave a knowing laugh. "You have few secrets from me, John Steed." She leaned into him again. "Especially in those pants."

The music stopped, and Rita turned to leave. Then, on an impulse, she slipped her arms around Steed's neck and kissed him. She had expected him to be surprised, even flustered; instead, she found that he returned the kiss surely and confidently.

"What was that for?" Steed asked wryly.

" _Buena suerte, Senor_ " she smiled. "Good luck, Steed."

-oOo-

A large silver punch bowl was located in the middle of the serving table. A man in a three-piece suit with a tommy gun was standing next to a man in a toreador outfit with a three-cornered hat.

Steed nodded a greeting. "Templar."

Templar returned the nod. "Steed."

"I don't trust you, Templar," Steed said evenly. "But Miss Fox does, and that's sufficient for me."

"I can't say I trust you either," Templar countered smoothly. "But Rita does, and that's enough for _me_."

"You need me to exchange the manuscript for Don Alvaro's daughter?"

"Rita thinks it would be best. Do you think you can handle it?"

"It's the kind of thing I do," Steed answered simply. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to return the original to the museum."

"With Fiset and Teague right on your heels?"

"I can give them the slip. And returning the Zorrilla back to The Prado is the last thing they would expect me to do tonight."

Steed nodded. Templar continued.

"The fake manuscript is in a wall safe in Don Alvaro's study. The combination is 23 right, 42 left, and 16 right. At nine o'clock sharp, someone dressed as Cyrano de Bergerac will enter the study. You give him the manuscript, let his expert examine it, and he'll give you the girl."

"How will I recognize Don Alvaro's daughter?"

"There's a large portrait of her on the study wall. It's a very good likeness; you should have no trouble recognizing her from it."

Steed frowned at Templar. "I hope you don't intend to take Miss Fox with you when you return to The Prado. She is a naive innocent; she has no comprehension of the dangerous games you play."

Templar smiled cunningly. "I somehow got the impression that you had exposed her to no small amount of danger yourself, government man."

"Nevertheless, Miss Fox goes home with me tonight," Steed declared.

"Of course," Templar acceded. "Give her my regards. Good luck, Steed." He offered his hand.

Steed hesitantly shook it. "Clear skies."

-oOo-


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Steed quietly entered the study of Don Alvaro. The portrait of the diplomat's daughter occupied the wall behind the desk; the safe must be behind it. Before removing the manuscript, Steed thought it wise to be prepared in case the deal went bad.

He noticed an antique gold-tipped cane hanging on one of the side walls. His knowledge of Spanish history led him to believe that it might be a weapon. He took it down from the wall, gave a slight twist to the ornate gold knob, and pulled. A slender blade slid out a few inches from the body of the cane. Just as he suspected; it was a swordstick, a hand weapon favored by the Spanish nobility dating from the Renaissance. Steed laid the cane on the desk in front of him. It didn't look out of place there; it could conceivably have been part of his costume.

The clock struck nine, and a man entered the study. Cyrano de Bergerac was the perfect disguise; the man wore so much nose and face putty, in addition to the fake moustache and goatee, that it would be impossible to identify him out of costume.

"You have the Zorrilla?" Cyrano asked in a gruff voice.

"It's in the safe behind me," Steed answered glibly.

"Let me see it."

-oOo-

Inspector Teague of Scotland Yard strolled into the courtyard of the hacienda. The tenacious and excitable Inspector Fiset had instructed him to keep an eye on the red-haired woman in the red dress, who supposedly had aided and abetted the Zorrilla theft, and the man in the toreador pants with the three-cornered hat, who apparently had been impersonating Teague himself in Brighton. Teague had already learned to take The Bulldog's allegations with some skepticism; according to her, everyone was guilty of some crime or another.

Inspector Fiset had insisted on keeping the prime suspect for herself: the man dressed as the American gangster, who she claimed was the infamous Simon Templar, international playboy and possibly thief. Already he could see Fiset approaching Templar on the other side of the yard, asking him to dance.

Teague had decided that of the two suspects he had been assigned, the more important was The Lady In Red, since she was the one directly involved in the museum theft. So when the man in the toreador pants had slipped away from the party, Teague had made no attempt to follow. Instead, he followed The Lady In Red over to the serving table. He studied the woman carefully.

She wore a clingy red satin dress that made no attempt to hide her best assets: her nice slender legs and her small but firm breasts. It was difficult to see her facial features beneath the mask she had on, but her hair was a wonderful blend of red and brown. The woman turned and noticed Teague's attentions, and she walked over to where he was standing.

" _Quieres bailar conmigo?_ " Rita asked demurely, in a perfect Castilian accent.

"Eh, Miss?" Teague answered, confused.

Rita gestured with her index finger and spoke with a heavy accent. "You... me... dance?"

"Uh, sure; why not?" Teague agreed. He was supposed to keep an eye on The Lady In Red. What better way?

-oOo-

Special Inspector Simone Fiset walked confidently over to the man dressed as John Dillinger. She had loosened the drawstring of her peasant top so that any sudden movement on her part would come dangerously close to exposing her. The Bulldog hoped that the distraction would lull Templar into making some critical mistake during the evening. She looked up at the six-foot-one man.

"Would you like to dance, Monsieur Dillinger?"

Templar smiled charmingly down at the five-foot Inspector. "Of course, Frasquita."

He pulled her close to him and whispered into her ear as they started to dance. "I detect a French accent, Mademoiselle. You are perhaps familiar with the Right Bank?" He sensuously squeezed her hip where his hand rested.

Inspector Fiset blushed again. "That is not the Right Bank that you are holding, M'sieu." Then she added playfully, "But if you move your hand down a few inches, you will be getting close."

-oOo-

Cyrano de Bergerac stood on the opposite side of the desk from Steed and the wall safe. Steed dialed the combination and opened the heavy steel door. Inside was a green envelope.

"I'll take that," Cyrano said.

"What about the girl?"

"After I have checked out the manuscript. The news of the theft may make it difficult to fence the manuscript, so I may require more."

"More what?" Steed asked threateningly.

"Money, of course. Think of the Zorrilla as a down payment."

Steed shook his head. "Bring the girl now."

With a lightning motion, Cyrano drew his rapier from its sheath. Steed slammed the safe door and spun the wheel.

"Give me the manuscript, Senor." Cyrano brandished the rapier within inches of Steed's face.

The gold-tipped cane lay crosswise on the desk. Steed snatched it up and pulled on the knob end. The blade came free easily, and he whipped it out to parry the rapier. A broad grin crossed his face.

"A blade to match yours, Senor," Steed replied.

Cyrano reached down to his belt and pulled out a short blade with his left hand. It was about a foot in length.

Steed arched his eyebrows in chagrin. "It seems I'm a blade shy." He grabbed the empty cane sheath and shortened up his grip on it to roughly half the length of the sword. He held it up to his nose in a cocky salute. " _En garde_ ," he said easily.

Even though the kidnapper lacked the fencing abilities of Steed, he had a perfectly matched set of blades, and had clearly practiced with them. Florentine-style fencing, using both a long and short blade, was a skill that had faded out in the late Renaissance. Luckily, Steed was familiar with a wide range of styles, both classical and historical. The two long blades clashed wickedly as Steed fended off the short blade with the wooden sheath.

Steed pressed forward his attack, and within seconds, the two swordsmen had spilled out of the study and into the courtyard. The crowd looked on nervously, until one drunken man pointed and laughed.

"Look, The Corregidor is fighting Cyrano!"

Then the crowd gathered round, thinking the swordplay must be part of that evening's entertainment. A chorus of "oohs" and "aahs" sounded forth at every pass of the two fencers. Most of the guests pressed in shoulder-to-shoulder to watch the spectacle. Rita had stopped dancing with Teague, and she looked on in horror as she saw Steed swordfighting in the middle of the courtyard.

"My God! Steed!"

The kidnapper brought down a powerful swing of the rapier aimed at Steed's left hand. When Steed lifted the sheath to counter it, there was a loud crack as the wood splintered and his hand was left holding nothing but air. Steed stamped his foot on the ground in a distracting _appel_ and lunged forward. While Cyrano retreated, Steed snatched the three-cornered hat from his head to use in his left hand.

Simone had seen the commotion as she was dancing. She immediately deserted Templar, forgetting that he was her prime suspect, and she pressed through the crowd to stand next to Rita. The look of concern on Simone's face was genuine. " _Combat a la florentine!_ " she gasped. "Steed will be killed!"

Steed parried a lunge from the rapier with the swordstick, then used his hat to counter the short blade. Cyrano's left hand barely hesitated as his blade sliced through a corner of the hat.

Steed held up the hat and whistled. " _El Sombrero de Dos Picos!_ " he exclaimed. The crowd roared with laughter. Only Rita and Simone seemed to recognize the fight as both real and deadly.

Simon Templar appeared out of the corner of Rita's eye. With a toss of his head, he motioned that he was leaving, and for her to follow. Rita meet his gaze, then turned her head to look at Steed. She slowly shook her head in refusal at Simon's offer. With a courteous nod of his head, Templar blew her a quick kiss and vanished into the darkness. The violin case with the original manuscript was in his Volvo, and he could be at The Prado in fifteen minutes.

Cyrano recognized that he now had an advantage over Steed. He peppered the arm holding the hat with fine scratches as Steed barely managed to avoid the tip of the short blade. The kidnapper made a slashing cross with the rapier that lopped off another corner of the hat.

Steed arched his eyebrows and held up the hat with a look of comic distress. "I'm all out of _Picos!_ " he exclaimed. The crowd applauded his riposte.

For a few seconds it was one blade against two as Steed groped with his left hand along the serving table, hoping to find something to counter the short blade. After rejecting a loaf of French bread and floral centerpiece, his hand fastened onto the edge of a large bowl of pretzels. With a quick motion he hurled the pretzels into the face of his attacker and used the metal bowl as a buckler to blunt a thrust from the short blade.

The sudden move had surprised Cyrano. Steed now had the initiative, and after an effortless parry with his sword, he pressed the attack. With a resounding swoop of the metal bowl, he knocked the short blade from Cyrano's left hand. Steed flung the bowl like a discus at the kidnapper's head. By instinct, Cyrano moved the rapier out of position to fend off the projectile. With a mighty whack using the flat of the swordstick, Steed sent the rapier flying from Cyrano's hand into the fountain.

Cyrano was disarmed. The crowd roared in approval, "Viva El Corregidor!"

Steed held Cyrano at the point of his blade and spoke low enough so that no one could overhear.

"Give me the girl."

"You're not Templar," the kidnapper said in confusion.

"I'm a friend of Don Alvaro's," Steed lied. "I hired Templar to steal the manuscript. You deal with me."

"I have men outside," Cyrano countered. "If you hurt me, they will kill the girl."

"I know that. All I want is the girl."

"And you will let me take the Zorrilla manuscript?"

"Of course. I'm an Englishman; the document means nothing to me. But you're not getting anything else. The girl for the manuscript, even trade." Steed smiled and wiggled the blade. "If you get my point."

"I must have my expert examine the manuscript, to make sure it is the real one."

"Of course. Let's go to the study."

-oOo-

A few minutes later, the daughter of Don Alvaro was hugging Steed in her father's study. The kidnappers had left with the green envelope, satisfied that it held the original copy of Zorrilla's _Don Juan Tenorio_.

"Are you The Saint I have heard so much about?" she asked excitedly.

"No," Steed explained. "But I usually fight on the side of justice, avenging some wrong or another. Have you been harmed?"

"No, Senor. _Muchas gracias._ "

Don Alvaro burst into the study. "Maria!" he cried. Steed stepped aside so that the father could be reunited with his daughter.

Rita had slipped in to the room. She gestured to Steed.

"We need to get out of here," she said. "The Inspectors left to follow Templar. If we sneak out before they get back, we might be able to escape this whole mess."

"Templar's attempting to return the real Zorrilla as we speak. Do you have a car?" Steed asked.

"I've called a taxi. It should be here in five minutes."

Rita gently stroked his sword arm. She noticed that his left arm had several scratches.

"You're bleeding!"

"I've discovered something tonight," Steed said. "A hat is not a sword, no matter how you hold it."

"When we get back to London, I promise to nurse you back to health," Rita said earnestly. She kissed him tenderly on the cheek.

Don Alvaro turned to face Steed. "How can I ever repay you, Senor?"

"Just tell your friend Simon that everything went exactly as he had planned from the very beginning," Steed answered knowingly.

-oOo-


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Special Inspector Simone Fiset was seated in an office at Scotland Yard with her fellow investigator, Inspector Teague. She was dressed in a long gray wool skirt with a peach silk blouse. He wore his plain brown suit; the derby sat on the desk next to him. Teague spoke first.

"Now, what exactly is the crime you want to charge Templar with?"

"He stole the Zorrilla manuscript and kidnapped the Englishwoman."

"You realize that we have no proof of that? And that the manuscript's already been returned?" Teague ventured.

" _Oui._ But we still might be able to force the eyewitness to testify against him, if either of them break down during questioning. I have sent a car over to Whitehall to fetch the librarian, Fox."

Shortly, a uniformed officer knocked timidly on the office door. He waited for permission, then ushered in the Ministry's top nineteenth-century literature research expert.

Rita was dressed in a starched white blouse, a knee-length red-and-black plaid flannel skirt, and brown leather calf boots. She was still wearing the reading glasses that made her look like a schoolmarm.

Inspector Fiset addressed Teague. "This is the woman that Monsieur Templar kidnapped. She was also disguised as The Lady In Red at the costume ball."

Teague squinted his eyes. "She doesn't look like the same woman. Of course, the hair color is similar, but anyone could dye their hair red. The woman I danced with at the costume ball seemed a bit more... brazen," Teague concluded.

Rita peered at him owlishly through the lenses of her glasses and blinked.

"Also, I think the woman I danced with was a local. I mean, she spoke perfect Spanish."

Inspector Fiset set her mouth into a firm line. "Mam'selle Fox is a cunning linguist."

"Look, _someone_ kidnapped me," Rita chimed in. "But I would have to examine this Mr. Templar to see if he was the one."

Simone clenched her jaw. "Bring Monsieur Templar in."

The uniformed officer left for a minute, then returned leading a tall man wearing a white linen suit. It was Simon Templar.

"I hope this doesn't take too long," Templar began politely. "I have to catch a flight to Miami in two hours."

Teague spoke apologetically. "We're sorry to have to inconvenience you, sir."

"I'm used to being detained by the local authorities," Templar added casually. "It comes with the territory when you're a world traveler such as myself. Criminals use my proximity to commit thefts, and then cast the blame on me, relying on my reputation."

"This is Monsieur Templar?" Rita asked innocently.

"You know he is," Simone said accusingly. "He kidnapped you, and then you became his lover."

Templar smiled brilliantly. "I'm pleased to meet you, Miss...?" He extended a hand.

Rita shook it and smiled back. "Fox, Rita Fox. I'm sure I would remember meeting so handsome a man."

"So you say that this isn't the man who held you hostage?" Simone interrupted.

"That's right," Rita answered. "The man who imprisoned me had a moustache. Also, he was wearing a mask the entire time."

"You are lying, Mam'selle!" Simone snorted in disgust. "You were in league with Monsieur Templar. You know the moustache was just a disguise he wore for the costume party where we spoiled your plans to fence the Zorrilla manuscript."

"I know nothing of the kind, Inspector," Rita fired back indignantly. "I thought you wanted my help as a witness. Well, I tell you that this isn't the guilty man. And wasn't the Zorrilla manuscript returned to The Prado? Perhaps during my imprisonment, I managed to convince the thief of the error of his ways," Rita smirked. "Or perhaps he was so in fear of the great Bulldog, he returned it rather than face your wrath."

Simone squinted at Rita menacingly. "You are no-good and rotten, just like that Monsieur Steed you work with."

Teague, who had been quiet during the exchange, spoke up. "Steed? Wasn't that the name of the man you said impersonated me in Brighton?"

" _Oui!_ " Simone answered angrily. "He pretended to be Inspector Teague of Scotland Yard, and Mademoiselle Fox pretended to be his assistant."

Rita shook her head incredulously. "I've never heard anything so mixed-up in my entire life. I _am_ Mr. Steed's assistant. I was there with you the whole time in Brighton, Inspector Fiset. I don't remember Steed pretending to be _anybody!_ For France's 'greatest detective', you seem to be remarkably misinformed, _Bulldog_."

Simone narrowed her eyes to slits, and she clenched and unclenched her fists. "Take this librarian from my presence," she hissed to the uniformed officer next to her. Teague looked at Inspector Fiset as if he was starting to doubt her sanity.

Rita turned and flashed a final smile to Simon. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Templar."

"Likewise," he answered smoothly. "I hope to meet you again someday."

-oOo-

Steed was filling two champagne glasses on the sideboard in his apartment. Rita was curled up on the couch.

"Care for a drink?" he asked.

"Yes, but only because it would be impolite to refuse." Rita still maintained that she never drank alcohol, but she always seemed to make an exception for Steed.

He gestured to an envelope on the coffee table as he handed her a glass. "I have another present for you. On the table there."

"An envelope as small as that, it could be a bikini. What is it?"

"Templar sent it to me, although I'm sure he would want me to give it to you."

Rita took a healthy swallow of champagne. She set the glass down and picked up the envelope. She opened it, and pulled out an ancient looking manuscript.

"The fake Zorrilla!" she exclaimed.

"A souvenir of your time in Madrid," Steed smiled. "Templar must have stolen it back from the kidnappers, just for practice. It may not be the original, but at least you can examine this one without fear of being abducted." He sat down next to her on the couch.

Rita looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry I backed out of our trip to Essex without telling you the reason. I wasn't sure you would understand my wanting to drop everything and fly off to Spain just to see a hundred-year-old document."

"If it happened in the nineteenth century, you're interested in it," Steed paraphrased. "Would you like to go to Essex this weekend?"

"For a getaway, just the two of us?"

"Well, there's a small matter of a disappearance that I need to look into while I'm there..." Steed got that expression on his face that he got right before he would launch into some silver-tongued trickery. She remembered the first time she saw it in the Ministry library, when he talked her into going out to Wiltshire.

Rita interrupted him by leaning over, slipping her arms around his neck, and kissing him on the mouth.

"Twice in one week?" Steed asked, his voice betraying a mix of curiosity and pleasure.

Her thoughts wandered to Simon Templar, and how much she preferred Steed's style over his. "You're not going to become some sort of international playboy or world-renown thief, are you?" she asked cryptically.

"Well, I might pretend to be one, undercover. But actually become one? I'd say not."

Rita looked deep into his eyes with a wistful expression.

"Stay the way that you are, Steed," she said.

He picked up his glass and raised it to her in salute.

"It's what I'm best at," he answered with a pleasant smile.

-oOo-


End file.
